


Golden Threads

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo has wings. His dear friend the King is in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanarobi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanarobi/gifts).



"But isn't it dangerous?"

Aragorn smiled at Frodo and touched his cheek. They sat together on a blanket in the grassy courtyard in front of the White Tree. A gentle spring sun warmed their faces and lifted their hearts. "Are you telling me you're suddenly concerned about danger? After all we've been through?"

"I'm always concerned." With a gentle rustle, Frodo stretched one sapphire-blue wing, folded it back, and then stretched the other wing. "Allow me to come with you at least."

"Nay, this mission must be done as quietly as possible."

"What do you hope to find?"

A breeze caused delicate white petals from the blooming flowers on the tree to fall like snowflakes. Frodo fluffed his wings, shaking the petals from him.

Aragorn picked up a white petal, twirling it in his hand. "It has come to my attention that a band of malcontents are living up the mountain, living in the woods. They have the false confidence that the king would never dare come himself to confront them."

"Surely you will not go alone?" Frodo asked in alarm.

"I shall take some of my best Ithilien Rangers."

 

Frodo paced and paced. Aragorn should have been home by now. It was not such a long hike, and Aragorn and his Rangers were swift when the need arose. Frodo sat on the balustrade of the balcony outside his bed chambers. The balcony offered a glorious view of the White City, and he could even see beyond, to the distant silver ribbon of the Anduin. He spread his wings and let himself fall. He glided over the courtyard, and the golden late afternoon sun glimmered in his blue wings, giving the impression that they were intertwined with Elvish-gold thread. The guards surrounding the White Tree waved at him.

Frodo spiraled up and up into the sapphire blue sky, and from such a height, he could see distant mountains of Rohan, of Emyn Arnen, and perhaps a silver line that could be the sea.

Aragorn would be angry with him, but Frodo could wait no longer. He had to make certain Aragorn was safe and unhurt. He would glide high enough off the ground that he would appear no more than a bird of prey circling for rabbits. Around and around he glided, swooping and rising and gliding, laughing for joy as the wind pushed his hair back. There was nothing like it to raise his heart. So caught up in the pleasure of it all was he that he had to remind himself that he was supposed to be seeking Aragorn.

Something struck his shoulder and exploded with pain. Gasping and clutching at the arrow stuck in him, he plummeted downward. Just in time he remembered to flap his wings, thus saving him from certain death on the mountain rocks below. As it was, he hit the ground hard, knocking his breath out. The clatter of running boots on rock surrounded him.

"Look what we got! What a prize!"

"Isn't this the King's little flying pet? That Halfling that spouted wings after he fought the Enemy?"

"Yeah, the one as put the King in his throne."

"Slay him!"

"Sheathe your sword -- he's worth more than that. He's bleeding bad, though. We gotta stop that if want him alive!"

Frodo felt the blood seep from the wound, soaking his shirt, and broken blue feathers surrounded him. He flapped his wings, trying in vain to get away. If he could just get off the ground, then he could somehow make it back to Minas Tirith and get help.

"Hoy, Flying Halfling. Relax. We're going to help you."

Frodo managed to get a few feet off the ground before fluttering to the ground again. Two men grabbed him and one tied his flight feathers together with rope, preventing all further flight and causing excruciating pain to erupt from his wound. Frodo yelled and kicked at the men, but they easily subdued him.

"Easy now, easy does it. Won't do no good to struggle."

Frodo was carried to a nearby camp. The men were rough as they threw him down. They smelled of liquor and sweat. Some had once been guards of the Citadel or Rangers of Ithilien.

"Now we got ourselves a way to bargain with the King," one said. "I remember this little bit before he got wings. He was in Faramir's camp during the war."

"The King himself is on the way," Frodo said. "With an army."

The Ranger of Ithilien laughed. "Maybe so. Maybe he'll listen to us this time if he knows we have his dearest friend."

One of the Rangers extracted the arrow from him, and bandaged up the wound. Frodo felt frustrated, angry with himself. He had made a mess of Aragorn's plan. Now instead of negotiating, Aragorn would likely have to fight to free him.

"The King approaches!"

"Take the Halfling out. Keep him right in view, in the way of any fighting. The King thinks the world of this little oddity."

The same Ranger that treated his wound yanked him to his feet and pushed him forward. Aragorn's eyes widened in fury and dismay at the sight of all the blood on Frodo's shirt. Then his face darkened with fury. "Hand him over to me."

"Only if we can have a village, unruled by the King. Otherwise he stays with us."

"I cannot do that."

A knife was shoved at Frodo's throat. Immediately arrows whistled through the air and slew the man who held the knife at his throat. A battle broke out. Frodo crawled out of sight, hiding behind a thicket. He struggled to free his wings, despite the waves of pain that erupted from his wound. He could do nothing to help unless his wings were free. At last, he loosened the rope that bound his wings, and he fluttered upward into the sky.

He could see that Aragorn and his small group of fighters had subdued most of the men, and those he hadn't had been killed or had scattered. Frodo swooped in an irregular, drooping manner, filled with so much pain that by the time he made it to the courtyard in Minas Tirith, he stumbled to the ground and passed out.

 

Frodo sat up in bed, working to place each feather in place. Unlike birds, he had no beak to pick and smooth each feather. Instead he used his nimble fingers.

Aragorn strode in the door. He settled on a stool, gazing at Frodo, saying nothing. Frodo met his gaze in a sheepish manner.

"Well?" Aragorn finally said, spreading his hands out in exasperation.

Frodo lifted his chin. "We both survived and you managed to subdue the bandits."

"We saw you fall from the sky. That's how we found them so fast. We have you to thank for that at least. Do not ever scare me like that again, King's orders."

Frodo lifted his wings in a heart shape. "I will promise nothing if it means I cannot protect you if you are in danger."

"I will never forget it."

Aragorn picked up a stray feather that had fallen and tucked it into his belt for luck and to remind him of love and beauty.


End file.
